In honor of the occasion, a profusion of lit candles decorate the cella. They sit on the pedestals of the gods, they line every niche and ledge in the chamber, and they cluster around the feet of the stone statues that reside here. Offerings of wine, food, coins, and wreaths of flowers are strewn among the candles, and even now, a few more servants from Augustus pad in silently to deposit more gifts designed to invite the gods' favor.

There are Schola here, as well. Most of them stand outside the chamber in the atrium, armed with gladii, spears, and bows and wearing their customary purple-and-black. The weapons are more for show than anything else; here in the heart of the Palladium, it is unlikely that anyone would seek to disrupt this ceremony. All the same, the guards are there to ensure that it progresses smoothly. A few stand in attendance at the cella's entrance, armed only with gladii, for it is frowned upon to come armed in the presence of the gods. Among those few are Gabriel's own guards, Dorian and young 'Phemus. They've been his constant shadow for months -- of course they wouldn't miss this.

The entrance of the Emperor is, as always, resplendent. His own contingent of Schola guards accompany him. They move in among those Schola already there, taking positions smoothly that allow them to guard the Emperor more so then the happy couple.

As for the Emperor, he is as always a creature of the light. Golden curls reflecting light to surround his head with a beatific halo. The cordial smile that invites attention and conversation; blue eyes that dance with merriment. His wings are arched proudly, bearing the weight of the state with a regal demeanor. And at his side is his escort; Olivia Jove. He speaks with her in a low whisper and searches for a seat appropriate to their stations.

Agrippina's two Schola, Romulus and Remus, look longingly at the other warriors, but do not abandon their charge. Instead, they stand at the side of the room, near where the Dea of Juventas has chosen to place her decrepit old body. Romulus appears to be favoring an ankle on which blooms a cane-shaped bruise. Agrippina also has added another item to her meager accoutrements, a ratty-looking stole is draped over her arm.

Famous in the patrician circles for his military conduct and strict adherence to the Schola armor and principles, Versus Augustin is surprisingly devoid of any military bearings today... clad in an expensive and elegant toga dyed in the colors of his house - a royal blue garment offset with silver and white along its edges. Elegantly folded, the toga frames his stern and self-confident body, competing in its deep sapphire with the equally blue eyes that burn with passion and a cold intensity of a strong mind. He is standing on a dais in front of the gathering, ready to conduct the ceremony of the marriage of his cousin. Framing him are two Augustin Guards, their characteristic royal blue cloaks draped elegantly for the occasion. A small stand of classical Illium design is the main feature in front of the patrician, holding on its blue-veined marble top a marriage contract, a loaf of intricately cut bread and a ribbon.

Bereft of her husband, Olivia has indeed entered with the Emperor, and she moves with a quiet, sort of introspective gait, head slightly bowed. With Arius she steps toward the place for immediate family of the bride, settling there with wings tucked against her. She lacks the glow that Arius so ably issues, instead maintaining a subdued presence. This is the day for Corael and Gabriel, and the Viator, wife of the Princeps, and escort of the Emperor wants only to be Olivia, relation to the newlyweds-to-be.

In an effort to keep the cella from becoming overly crowded, only two of Dea Acesian's Schola accompany her and her young daughter to a quiet place near the impassive image of Apollo, lit with a multitude of small candles placed by Augustin servants. The firelight casts its golden glow over the two Acesians, the younger staring around in awe at the illustrious gathering, and then up at the image of Apollo behind her. Tiny wings, just beginning to form, twitter anxiously against the pale blue of her tiny chimere, but she remains, thankfully, quiet at her mother's side. Selene's eyes momentarily watch young Zea with a faint smile before turning her attention to the arriving Empyreans. Clothed in a white chimere interwoven with gold, the nearby light floods her with its golden illumination, and erases the cooler traces of silver that are natural to her coloring. For time to time her head gently inclines in greeting, but with the crowd growing and the worry of a young child running off, Selene remains where she is and doesn't approach others. There will be time to speak after the ceremony.

The lyre players, hired by the marrying house, keep their unobtrusive presence in one corner of the room. They weave a pleasant melody, one perhaps especially composed for this wedding. Weaving their fingers on the strings, they entertain the crowd in the moments before the entrance of the procession... an electric anticipation accompanying them in the air.

Unguarded and unescorted, Octavian Jove enters and glances about the transformed chamber. Even with the candles and offerings the Cella is -not- a place where he would have a wedding. But then again, he shan't be celebrating one anytime soon so he doesn't need to worry about it. With a rather bored look in his eyes he stifles a yawn as he looks about for some he might wish to sit with. He is really of little relation to either member of the couple...perhaps he should just sit near the statue of his ancestor. But that is lonely. His own indigo and gold clothing give him an almost ethereal look as he moves among the candle-lit chamber.

The Augustin servants place their last offerings at the feet of the stone gods and then disperse, finding spots to stand near the back wall, for they're not about to miss this -- not with the promise of a banquet later.

At the cella's entrance, the Schola stand aside to allow the first procession to enter. It is the groom's family, as well as others affiliated with House Augustus. Gabriel, acting Deus and Aegian of his House, steps in first, and he's abandoned his usual plain garb in favor of a fine toga picta of snowy white over a chiton bearing the purple stripe of his office. Even his battered ivory wings look neatly groomed. His gaze sweeps over the guests briefly before he moves forward, toward the dais, where his cousin stands. Accompanying him are Cersei, Lucia, and others associated with the family.

Olivia's features, serene and softened by recent plumpness, grow luminous at the appearance of Gabriel, and the devotion she feels for him - the near-maternal affection - cannot be denied. "He looks grand," whispers she to Arius. "Simply grand."

Arius settles into the seat next to Olivia. His own wings tucked close to his back. He turns to watch the groom proceed down the aisle. The smile still on his face, but cooler by a degree or two. With one hand he pats Olivia's arm. He makes little reply to her words, beyond simple agreement. "Indeed. I hope that Domina Corael is a fitting bride for him."

As if rising from the dead, the people sitting near Agrippina are horrified to discover that the ratty, grey and white stole draped on her arm is alive when the mop-like head raises, the beady black eyes open and a red tongue lolls out of a mouth filled with many sharp teeth. Agrippina sets her cane between her knees and strokes the small dog with one bony hand. "There, there, mommie's precious. Time for meats and eats later."

Disturbed by those that impede her view, Zea tugs insistently on her mother's chimere, her tiny lips easily turning into a frown. Selene glances down at her daughter who quickly, but quietly, explains the problem to which Selene offers the obvious solution. Lifting Zea into her arms, Selene points out the arriving groom into the cella and murmurs something to her daughter who's response is a happy giggle.

Walking in alone and almost to the side of the group of people, including the Schola, a tall Empyrean walks in, meticulously clean, beard clipped neatly, hair combed back, and the refreshing smell of lavender leaves coming from his still-damp hair. Cyrilian is dressed rather plainly however -- in orderly clothes and all, but his last minute decision not to come in his old uniform had left him with very plain and simple attire. He hangs around in the back, like a protruding appendage to the crowd, alone, distant, and apart from the rest of his brethren. He remains silent, his cerulean eyes not looking at anything particular despite all the sights present.

Lucia's hands are clasped tightly in front of her as she walks with the others of House Augustus and quickly finds a seat with the rest of the family. Deep breaths are taken as she tries to calm herself, probably at least as nervous as she would imagine the bride and groom to be.

The eyes of Versus enliven slightly as Gabriel and his entourage enter the chamber... a rosy sparkle of the candles illuminating this face unevenly. Coming to life from his pensive stance, the Augustin takes only a momentary pause to indulge in his military bearing... casting a disapproving look to Romulus for so blatantly displaying his weakness, and not masking the bruise. Yet as the elegance of the arriving party awakens the room in their procession to the cella's interior, a faint smile creeps onto the patrician's face, straightening his rigid body even more and letting his clasp hands unwind from behind his body to frame his sides. The guards around him do not move, and only one slave - Chrysemis - chosen to help him in his duties, glances at the man with an inquisitive look as to how she may be of service. Stoic and elegant, Versus waits patiently as the bride and groom approach the stand, proclaiming by their joint approach the desire to proceed.

Stepping behind Gabriel in the same calm and regal stride, Cersei Augustin is as the echo to his footsteps. The tiara-topped glory of a coppery head is held high in ancient pride, green eyes sparkling to look straight ahead. Like many of those gathered, the warm embrace of candle light illuminates her, defining her in a way most spectacular, more memorable than even the joy that lights her smile. The finest of her silks are designed to be the image of Augustus' splendor, silver-gold weave of iridescence wrapped in the royal blue sash. But the procession makes its journey, and, in that moment when echoes must turn and find a place new, so does Cersei gracefully shift her steps and move to sit in her proper place.

But a few moments after the Augustin procession, there follows that from House Demitrios. The number of people accompanying the bride are considerably fewer, and their faces much graver, than those following Gabriel. Corael herself presents a simple, elegant picture, the candlelight glittering off the silver limning her feathers. Her dress, newly woven for the occasion, and compliments of a certain tailor by the name of Aurelius, is both simple and elegant, a study in white and silver, accented by the antique jewelry she wears as well. The proud lift of her chin does nothing to hide the glaring blemish upon her right cheek, wine-stain birthmark that covers the right side of her face. Behind her walk the stern forms of her father, Urian, and her young brother, Galen, who looks equally nervous and unhappy.

In the splendor of such elite company, few may actually notice the entrance of the Oracle. Yet Jana walks with her chin lifted as if all eyes were upon her, arrayed in the solemnity of a dark, indigo kaftan that heralds her allegiance with the Citadel of Delphi. She does not proceed alone, for at her side is the tall figure of Altair, garbed in dark armor that has seen a recent, thorough polishing. Her hand rests lightly upon his arm as he guides her down the aisle, and young features are composed in an expression of serenity that one might expect to find upon a Seer. Calmly, with little fuss or fanfare, the auspex is left alone to approach the dais whilst Altair steps aside to find a seat for himself and reserve one for his cousin.

Olivia reaches for Corael's gaze, seeking it with her aquamarine regard, reassurance in every fibre of the elder domina's being. "You look radiant," she will whisper when the bride passes, and further pleasure for the day's splendour registers in Olivia's expression.

Off in a corner of the Cella, away from the rest of the gathering, stands a lone artist. Less a guest than an active participant, the artist Valerian stands there with charcoal pencil in hand and a large pad of sketching paper on an unobtrusive easel. As the official artist of House Augustus, it is his job to capture the glory and majesty of this marriage for future posterity. His hands works rather furiously upon the paper, taking in all he can and transferring it to paper for later works.

Echoing the words of Olivia Jove, the Emperor offers to the bride-to-be a gracious smile. "Dominus Gabriel is a fortunate man, to have so lovely a bride." Spoken to his escort but meant to be overheard by Corael. His eyes follow her procession forward, his hands now folded in his lap.

Agrippina has not gussied herself up in finery. Instead, she is dressed in her usual grey and more grey. Yet, her cloth is of the highest quality, befitting the elegant company that she has immersed herself within. However, the mop dog is definitely detracting from the elegance of the event. With jerky motions, the head turns from side to side, surveying the other guests at the wedding, perhaps deciding who might make a tasty treat. Its beady eyes cross from time to time, signalling that it might be even more insane -- or is that senile? -- than its mistress.

Selene watches the bride with great curiosity while also trying to keep Zea from wriggling from her grasp. The Dea notes the unusual marking to the woman's face and her eyes widen just slightly. It is her daughter who so 'elegantly' voices the Dea's surprise. "Wha's on her face mama?" Zea asks with all the innocence of a child and thankfully in a soft voice to only disturb her mother and a few of the guests around them. The question, however innocent, is quickly hushed by Selene.

Let's see...where to sit. Cousin Selene has her daughter to look after, and he doesn't want to cause a scene (yet) by sitting next to a Domina he would like to get to know better, so Octavian moves closer to his cousin Olivia. Granted, she is sitting with the Emperor, but surely they won't mind a third. As he passes the elderly Domina with a dog he gives a single sniff, perhaps of disdain. Who in their right mind would bring a dog to a wedding?

Perhaps everyone here who is watching Versus with any degree of intensity is waiting for a barrage of slogans and speeches about the glory of the Empyre that may be woven into the opening speech... the Augustin famous for his powerfully conservative stance and the strongest support of another Golden Age. Yet while some motions of the marble-winged man are definitely proud and military, there is a noble air about him today that bears witness to a much more flamboyant personality of someone cradled in the finest the Empyre has to offer. No, he will speak of marriage today, of love and future, indulging his eloquence of speech and inquisitive mind in glory that already exists within the winged gods from the sky. Lifting his head faintly, and forever comfortable with his position and duties, he waves his hand nonchalantly to the musicians in the corner to begin their wedding hymns. The silver pin that braces his toga on his left shoulder catches the light of the nearby torch, and reflects it onto the ceiling of the cella in a luminous sparkle.

Startled as someone approaches from the other side, Olivia raises her brows and demonstrates certain surprise, followed by an expression of somewhat effected welcome as she says, "Octavian, dear, sit with us." What else is the prim, practiced, proper domina to say?

Gabriel waits by the dais where his cousin stands, presiding over the ceremony, and as the bride and her small entourage enter, he turns to watch. The slight smile that quirks his lips is for Corael alone; with a lifted brow, his look seems to convey a hint of wry humor. He might as well mouth 'so much for a small ceremony.'

His eyes skip past Corael to rest fleetingly on Urian, and although the smile remains, it holds a different cast. There's a smugness in his gaze -- a tale left untold known only to those two men. One might guess, for an instant, that Gabriel was gloating.

Blue eyes raise a bit as Versus gestures to the musician. Glancing at the bride, Lucia's eyes go back to him, trying to be discreet in her scrutiny. A hand lightly scrapes through her hair as she takes one more glance about the chamber as if looking for a specific spot...but there are too many people to find it clearly.

The dark warrior smiles gently as he watches his cousin ascend to the dais, his bearing that of a proper warrior in civilian armor, no marks of rank or affiliation upon him. Altair looks to find a couple seats in the larger crowd, and indeed finds them. Carefully he takes a seat next to Agrippina, keeping an eye on the empty seat next to him for his cousin to come later.

Promptly instructed, the lute players exchange quick glances to silently mark the tempo of the upcoming tune. As their fingers hit the strings, a wedding hymn reverberates off the walls of the cella with a radiant yet delicate skill of master musicians. It is a candid song, known throughout the Empyre from these occasions alone, but today it is arranged in a more pompous rendition, as if to underline the presence of an Aegian in the wedding pair. The servants scurry about silently to dim the radiant torches to the appropriate mood, and only those in charge of preparing the feast for the night leave the chamber to tend to their culinary duties.

A calm peace seems to have arisen from Cyrilian as he sits down somewhere - hoping it's not some reserved seat or whatnot, his placid cerulean eyes glancing at Corael and her procession, taking note that her birthmark is still real as she is - his gaze transiently looking at the grey eyes of the bride, but his seat towards the back not affording him a good look. He lets out a soft smile, as his eyes drop a little, making sure he keeps silent, for a reason that is kept to himself.

Corael shifts the cast of pale gray eyes to meet Olivia's as she passes the elder domina, a small, grateful smile blossoming at her words. Her gaze skips momentarily to Olivia's companion, widening in surprise before they drop away. And 'twas not Octavian she was looking at, either. She lifts her eyes to Gabriel, letting them waver not again, for if they did, she might not make it the rest of the way.

Urian and Galen peel away from Corael as she reaches the dais, finding their proper seats, but Corael's father seems ill at ease, the look he returns Gabriel full of veiled venom.

Agrippina's dog takes a decided interest in the Velite as he seats himself. Very softly, a growl begins to issue from the animal's throat. Is Altair tasty or a perceived threat?

Olivia's gaze travels from Gabriel to his prospective father-in-law, and the domina's lips thin. "Someone to whom I should speak later..." she murmurs to herself, making a mental note.

Altair blinks a moment as he looks to Agrippina, his head tilting to one side as he looks to the animal. A little surprised at first, but he makes no threatening moves. He looks back to the Dais and the procession, commenting quietly to his elder next to him in a respectful yet hushed tone. "I think it will be a beautiful wedding," he says softly. Of course, in Altair's naive, sometimes warped sense of thinking, all weddings are beautiful.

Gods, this is why he hates weddings. Well, other than the fact that he has to watch all these lovely Dominae saddled to a Dominus for the rest of their lives. But weddings mean Octavian is not the center of attention and when he is not the center of attention he gets incredibly bored. At Olivia's offer he gives a genteel smile and a, "Thank you, cousin," as well as an, "Ave, Deus Maximus." Once he sits, however, the smile fades into an expression of ennui.

As the wedding pair ceremonially gathers in front of the officiator, Versus spreads his hands slowly to quiet the crowd so that his voice may carry to all present. A silence follows, one filled with a charged anticipation, and a heavy anchor of the Augustin's face falls onto the pair in front of him. Gabriel he knows well, and while he is no stranger to Corael any longer, her form is taken into a long mental consideration, compliant with the dutiful pensive estimate of a wife of a noble who must marry well. Yet it's the smile that covers that long moment of silence with a radiant appeal on Versus' face, and his head lifts to those gathered in the cella... the nobility of the crowd and their elegance of decor uplifting the moment. "It is my distinct pleasure and honor, as an Empyrean, as an Augustin, and as a cousin to the groom, to present this pair to you gods to approve for eternity as a husband and wife. As all those gathered wish you well, may Tyche smile often upon you." His voice is melodic but confident and as the icy eyes find the figure of Jana, his speech raises in volume to cut the distance directly to her, "And as it is our custom not to sit and wait for future to happen but to face it bravely with open eyes and ready arms, may those who speak for the gods proclaim their first message. Oracle, what does Fortune hold in stores for Gabriel Augustin and his wife to be, Corael Demitrides?"

Set in a pose as unmoving as Illium's finest statues, the impeccable Domina Cersei watches the dais with a soft, but obvious intensity. The posture is perfect and still, with glittered milky wings held tight behind her, yet even in this paused state does the lady radiate a warmth and benevolence. Each glance given to those around the dais pulls at her lightly painted lips. Then, as the music shifts and bride finally meets groom upon the carefully watched platform, Cersei stirs from her frozen pose and moves a slender hand to rest just upon the hollow of her sternum, light upon her heart and fingers barely gripping that glorious golden ornament of her necklace. Her eyes remain upon Versus.

From where she stands, hands folded before her now that her escort has taken his seat, Jana keeps her gaze trailed off onto some distant point in space beyond the cella's walls. Until her name is called. Blinking, she remembers herself and where she is, yet there is no hurry to her step when she comes forward to take her proper place before the bride and groom. Now facing the couple and the assembly, she gently clears her throat and inclines her head, waiting the span of several heartbeats before she begins to speak.

Later, he'll have time to notice his guests. Later, he might send a smile to Olivia, or gaze with a mix of bewildered amusement at that ratty creature in Agrippina's lap, or acknowledge the Emperor with a stiff nod. But for now, Gabriel's attention is on Corael, and in an effort to banish some of her uneasiness, he holds out a hand. Palm up, the gesture is an invitation, symbolic of the wedding itself. She can take his hand, and leave her family behind. And thus, together they can face whatever future the Oracle might predict.

Remembering to keep her voice low after the frightening look from her mother Zea is quickly pointing out a few other people she knows. "Dere's 'tavian" she giggles, pointing to Jovian's bachelor with a couple of chubby fingers, yet again distracting the Dea from the ceremony. "Zea, quiet. Look up there, see ... a wedding."

Olivia inhales and exhales, a silent mantra evidenced by the intensity of her expression; is she expecting trouble? Turning toward the Oracle - and resting a hand on Octavian's as if in reminder - she closes her eyes and attends the reading, whispering in prayer, "Let it be good news, dear lares, dear Cassius, if you attend us now, let it be good news. They deserve it. They so richly deserve it."

Agrippina comments back to Altair while stroking the dog with the death-like claw hand, "All brides are beautiful on their wedding day, though some less so than others. It is a girl's only chance at looking beautiful, even if she has the face of a pig." The animal continues to growl softly at Altair, though the continued stroking appears to be appeasing its vindictive nature to the extent that it has not leaned forward and taken a bite out of the nearest bit of Altair's flesh.

Looking up as the oracle makes way, Cyrilian hopes for the best - not sure if his initial thought was directed at his own pathetic fortunes or that of the couple in front, a swirl of ideas and thoughts entering his mind - one being if he should even be attending. But he decides to have some backbone for once and stay. His own time up there will come, whether wedding or funeral. His gaze is fixed at the image of Corael, but indirect, as if from the corner of his eyes.

Slender, callused fingers close upon Gabriel's with gentle strength; Corael takes her place Gabriel's side, not only in this moment, but in a figurative way, for all the years to come. To face what the future may hold, what the Oracle may say. With a spare glance at Gabriel, gray eyes flicker to Jana, waiting.

Urian taps Galen's arm at his side, directing his younger child to pay attention and stop swinging his feet so. Lifting his stern visage, the lines of his brow draw together, awaiting the proclamations for his daughter.

Altair blinks softly a moment as he steals another glance at Agrippina. While she may be correct, she certainly put her statement in the oddest and least pleasing of terms. He nods a couple times in agreement, then focuses his eyes upon the ceremony without further comment.

"The gods have whispered to me that this couple shall face many briars and brambles on the road of their life together. Perseverance lies in acceptance and compromise; learn to know one another. Beware always of those who shall seep thoughts of jealousy and resentment into your hearts. They will come on all sides, and theirs is not always the face of an enemy." Here, Jana pauses, letting her grey-eyed gaze rest primarily upon Gabriel as she speaks, "In my dream I beheld a great tree, one whose roots stretched back through the soil and whose branches reached high into the skies. I saw a branch, one that has only just begun to flower. But it is green and fertile, and it shall someday bear fruit."

Her eyes flicker now to Corael, "Wise is she who treads with caution in a House of secrecy. Keep well your counsel, and know that only bones and decay shall ever be found when the grave is opened." Now the Oracle draws up her chin, so that her voice may ring out clearly through the confines of the cella. "Let us always remember that dreams and portents show only a glimpse of What May Be. Each of us holds the reins upon his destiny, and beneath the sheltering wings of our lares, we may come to find redemption when we believe our hour has come upon us." Concluded now, the young woman takes a single step back from the wedding couple and falls into a studious silence. Then she turns upon her heel and descends to her seat at Altair's side.

Agrippina continues to Altair, "In the end, beauty does not matter. Weddings are not about love, romance and the rest of that worthless drivel. Marriage about power, prestige and contacts. It is a contract. The wedding simply exists so that we can witness the event and recognize which principals must be hunted down and killed should the contract be broken."

At Arius' side Olivia's features convulse before she opens her gaze and ensures a pleasant, hopeful manner exudes from her. Jana's vision will make more sense to some than to others, and this lady, late of Augustus and now of Jove, seems to have gotten quite a meaning from the words of the Oracle.

There's no smile on his lips now as Jana announces her prediction for the future. Of course, he could have expected no less -- when do Oracles ever have visions that are wholly rosy and bright? Gabriel tips his head in a nod of acceptance for the augur's words, and his fingers tighten fleetingly upon Corael's. Folded wings shift once, restlessly, against his back. But that is his only hint of uneasiness; otherwise, he seems ready to plow onward into that uncertain future.

Altair mutters quietly under his breath, without looking to Agrippina, "I wish someone had told that to my wife..." He says nothing more, though the darkened look on his face speaks volumes. As Jana approaches, he smiles gently to her, helping her to her seat if she needs it. "It was a good prediction," he says to her softly.

A voice near Altair, overhearing his sentiment, says with a caustic snort, "Aye, an' Varati pigs can fly."

Agrippina snorts back to the nameless voice, "One Varati pig can fly. Such a shame someone hasn't had the guts to kill that halfbreed yet." Her dog sneezes in agreement, spraying Altair with bits of fluid that should remain unnamed.

Corael absorbs the Oracle's words, giving no outward sign of what thoughts or emotions those portents may raise in her. The silver-limned fold of her wings remains still, folded tight against her back, and the Ice Dove's mask reigns supreme, letting not a single thing escape. So intent is she upon herself and the perhaps five feet around her immediate presence, she fails to notice her father muttering to her brother about their mother and the...occurrence over by Altair.

As the Oracle moves forward and makes her speech, the 'Jovian bachelor' doesn't quite stifle another yawn. Gods, when can the ambrosia be distributed? Blue-violet eyes glance down at the hand on his arm before Octavian lifts a hurt glare to his cousin. Does she think he would do anything at a time like this? Does he get no credit? It just pushes him farther into brooding.

Despite Corael's tight control, 'tis quite certain you can feel the fine trembling within her bones, a shivering that will not subside.

Just in time to see the dog sneezing on her cousin does Jana arrive at her seat, a pale eyebrow arched up in mild surprise. What did he do? Pick the only bad seat in a whole smackering of good ones? Thankfully, he's reserved a place for her on the other side of him, so that he remains between her and the Wicked Witch of Juventas. Wings flicker back into place as she seats herself, hands folded in the hollow of her lap.

Young Zea has nothing to say to the Oracle's offering, all of it has gone far over her head, unable to comprehend what was said. Her wiggling does cease, finally and tired of the lack of activity she curls up in her mother's lap. The small chain of flowers the girl wears falls at an angle as she rests her head against her mother. Selene's brow wrinkles faintly at the implications of Jana's reading, but she hold the weak smile on her lips as her fingers gently brush over her daughter's hair.

However unpredictable Versus may be, this part is right by the book... the Augustin is known to be very scrutinous about the proclamations of the Oracle for any of his family members. Like expected, his eyes burrow now, deepening their icy intensity and piercing Jana with attention equaling that of a Praetorian drill sergeant. Yet the lack of any proclamation of a taint in the noble Augustus line and the promise of fertility are enough to satisfy his skeptical mind for now. Clasping his hands at the back of his ceremonial toga, the officiator nods to the Oracle in a ceremonial thanks for her offerings and godly gifts. The pleasant aura of flickering fire and the echoing remembrance of the wedding hymn that has just ended swirl about the room like a blanket of warmth on a cold night. "And so the Fortune has spoken", the voice of Versus is pleasant and ceremonial, hiding in its eloquent delivery any thoughts of his own. With a measured gesture, dressed with a flamboyant twist of the wrist, the Augustin officiator takes the contract from the marble dais before him, presenting it to all before he opens the parchments. On its top is the sigil of the House of the bride, and the Augustin logo of the cypress tree of Augea with the white eagle.

Nope, Octavian gets no credit. Olivia's seen him in public. Still, the hand on his arm shifts to his hand, and she curls her fingers around his in a show of familial sweetness. Or something to that effect.

Gabriel stands as still as before, wings folded in placidity now that the Oracle's proclamation is past. His blue-green eyes rest on his cousin as he retrieves the contract, and he waits for it to be read so that those gathered here may stand witness.

Altair pulls a handkerchief from a small pouch at his side, wiping up whatever it was with a disgusted look on his face. Indeed, Altair does seem to have put himself in the bad part of the Cella, and shall be kicking himself for some time to come. He looks to Jana again, trying to smile, but it comes out more like an expression of 'What have I done?? Get me out of here!!'

The dutiful copper-haired daughter of Augustus too seems to have taken a dark relevancy to those words, pale features momentarily drawn into a line of an almost shamed seriousness. Yet, the whispers of those around and the absolute pride of the occasion quickly move her to more joyous spirits. The shadows of the past are swallowed into a far off subconscious, and the regal domina smiles once more, though that slender hand grips yet more tightly on her emblem.

Corael shifts not a whisper, gaze lifting to Versus in silence.

The sounds of gryphons waft into the chamber from beyond... the coaches and chariots of the rich parked there temporarily to carry the guests for the feast that will follow. Drowned in the strong presence of the Schola guards and the blue-cloaked soldiers of the Augustin Guard, the guests participate in the ceremony each in their own way. Joy and tears are ever present, but so are the somber faces of those whose marriages were less than great. Yet at least the servants and slaves of House Augustus keep a rather jovial spring to their step as they go about their duties, either instructed so by the Family itself, or genuinely happy to see one of their masters on a wedding dais. Perhaps there is more to this House than meets the eye...

Satisfied with the delivery of the Oracle's proclamation, if not with its content, Versus slowly unfolds the ceremonial contract papers, raising them to his waist to be read. Chrysemis, his attendant slave, steps forward slightly, putting a candle near the parchment to give it more light. "It is this contract", the Augustin begins, "That will bind you Gabriel and you Corael to your terms of marriage. Let it be read now and witnessed by all, to be fulfilled by both parties." With that, the patrician squares his shoulders and lifts his voice, announcing to all the contents of the papers:

"Let it be known that on this day, the eighth of June in the year three thousand nine hundred and eight, that Gabriel Hesperos Augustin and Corael Melissande Demitrides shall be joined in the bonds of marriage under the eyes of the Gods and Lares and of the witnesses present. May this union signify a newfound bond between two Houses that none may tear asunder. It is agreed, by the families of both, that the following shall be the terms of this, their marriage contract:

"Corael Demitrides will join the family of Gabriel Augustin, taking his name and entering into the protection offered by the Houses lares, penates, and patron goddess, Augea.

"House Augustus will receive as dowry one thousand denarii, six slaves, five gryphons, and the pasturelands owned by Demitrios west of the city of Praxis in the province of Hermopolis.

"Corael Demitrides will be entitled to a yearly stipend of three hundred denarii, above and beyond what she is entitled as a member of Augustus, and this sum is hers to do with as she pleases."

Versus pauses for a moment, casting a glance at the crowds and continues reading...

Agrippina does not appear disposed toward further ruining Altair's romantic vision of marriage as a glorious future entered into by a man and woman in the throes of unbounding love. Instead, she appears interested in listening to the terms of the contract. After all, she has to know who will receive the most bruises from the bloody end of her stick.

Continuing, Versus reads on...

"If, at any time, Gabriel Augustin raises a fist to his wife, she will be free to seek a divorce and sever the ties of matrimony, yet she will still be entitled to the Augustin name and protection.

"Any issue of this marriage will bear the name Augustus and will enjoy its protection regardless of divorce, death, or annulment of this union. Any male child will be third in succession after Nikolos Cassio Augustin as the heir to the House, and after any legitimate child sired by Versus Xanthio Augustin.

"Should she lose Gabriel Augustin to death, Corael Demitrides will keep the Augustin name and her stipend until her death, at which time it will revert to Augustus. Any income of her own received beyond that stipend will be inheritable by her heirs.

"Gabriel Augustin will honor and protect this woman as his wife until death or divorce, and Corael Demitrides in turn will honor and obey this man as her husband until death or divorce. From this day hence, she will be known as Corael Melissande Demitrides Augustin. Let the witnesses come forth to recognize the terms of this contract."

As the words finish, the Augustin officiator folds the paper symbolically to indicate the end of the contract. His gaze upon the pair seems to bear a relaxed expression... no doubt the two are all-too aware of what was written and have been for some time. Placing the parchments on the dais, Versus motions to Chrysemis to provide writing utensils, and after the tall, graceful woman does so, the stage is set for the signing of the contract.

Olivia sits up, mouth open at what was just read. Did...did she hear that right? "Niko is heir, then...any child of Versus'?" she repeats to those closest, voice softened by discretion. "I am confused..."

The first part of the contract was all fairly standard, and some of the guests might have even grown bored at its reading. But as Versus read on, it was revealed that the contract contained a few unorthodox clauses. Gabriel's fingers tighten around the bride's as those terms are read -- they are a promise to her that he intends to fulfill, and these guests are witnesses if he does not. As the contract is finished, the Aegian turns his head enough to seek out Urian among the crowd, and there's a resurgence of that triumphant gleam in his gaze. Corael is an Augustin now, and ever beyond Demitrides' reach.

The hand clasping his own seems to surprise Octavian, and unnerve him slightly as he shifts once in his seat. He doesn't try to move his hand away, and at the soft voice he turns, answering in a whisper, "The child is the son of Cassius...it seems to make sense." While the former Deus is dead, his con is not...so why shouldn't he be heir?

The ambient noise raises as the contract signing falls underway... this part of the ceremony is often too mundane to be followed closely. Instead, the guests and family of the couple relax for a moment, exchanging smiles and glances, and expressing their happiness or complementing the wedding so far. This is also the time to glance at each other's attire, to admire those with the best togas or to keep those dressed below their state in mind, as a hot topic for later gossips and ridicule. A tall man in the back of the crowd whispers to his companion, unfortunately for him all too loudly to conceal his words, "You think they would let me speak to the Emperor, if I bribed my way in...?"

A frown had played upon Urian's lips since he took his seat, and as the reading of the contract is finished, it only grows. The lines about not lifting a hand to Corael especially produced a deepening in the lines about his mouth. Unsettled, he remains where he is a moment, considering the terms before tapping Galen on the shoulder and rising from his seat. The glance cast at him by Gabriel is noted and returned. There is a fleeting glitter of understanding in his pale blue eyes, a certain something that is acknowledged by both men and left at that.

A subtle look of displeasure arises in Cyrilian from the talk of dowries and contracts - formalities of a people too... important to accept things as they are and too important to forget what these traditions and obligations once stood for - all heading into an oblivion of bureaucracy and bonds of paper. Not once does this "contract" even mention love or compassion. Just numbers and that word - protect. This is no way a wedding should be - but he isn't going to ruin something that isn't his, biting his tongue in his seat.

Altair tilts his head a moment as he listens to the reading of the contract, the assimilation of what it contains. He leans in a bit towards Jana after the reading is complete, commenting quietly in her ear...

Aquamia passes through the archway from the atrium.

Still and silent, trying to keep up some facade of prim propriety, Jana seems to be watching the ceremony with some degree of attentiveness. She glances aside at her cousin's whisper, brow furrowing ever so slightly, but she replies to whatever he has said with a single nod.

Corael exhales a soft sigh as the contract is read, her fingers twining tightly with Gabriel's, perhaps seeking reassurance. She glances briefly at him, following his gaze to her father. Her face, already pale, only waxes paler and she glances away again.

Okay, so, she's late. A lot of late but, what do you expect from an Atlantean -anyways-? You think they have sundials under the sea or something? All you winged beauties are privileged to be in the presence of a Decemvir anyways. Yeah, that's it. The diminutive lady hovers tentatively near the entrance with a gaggle of tortoise-shell guards flocked behind her like a bad shadow. She tilts her head back ever-so-subtly and the accompaniment scatter out of sight like grains of sand in the wind. Aquamia continues to (rudely?) linger near the door, looking around the pretty piece of holy plot for a familiar face or organized 'guest' area. Perhaps it's best just to remain a sneaky observer; no sudden movements.

Urian moves forward, his teenage son following in his wake. He glances hard at his daughter, studying her and the mark upon her face. Another lengthy glance is given Gabriel, an underlying current of animosity directed at his daughter's intended. Without flourish or hesitation, Urian Demitrides signs his name upon the contract, forever severing his last ties with his eldest child. Setting down the quill, he turns and strides away without looking back.

Galen's glance at his sister is sad, comforting in a quiet way, and then he too moves away.

Agrippina stops stroking her dog. Lifting her cane from its resting place between her knees, she rises from her seat. Given her bony frame, one would expect her to creak like an old board, but she does not. Holding the cane just under its brass head, she walks up to where the contract has been laid out. Obviously, the old woman does not need her cane and it is obvious, given the way that Romulus and Remus eye the cane, but do not leave their station by the wall, that the cane serves a singular purpose. She picks up a pen and signs the document with all the haughty authority-- and more-- that her status has entitled her over the years. Leaving the contract, she pauses to look over Gabriel and his new bride. "Interesting terms. I shall enjoy watching for a breach of contract." She taps her stick suggestively on the floor.

Oh, Versus has noticed the unobtrusively entering Atlantean, he certainly did. And just like expected, his face grimaces with not remotely hidden displeasure... as if the presence of anyone non-Empyrean would somehow diminish this formal occasion. Yet as the officiator and a man of sound principles, he makes no more noise about the issue than his solitary look, and a slight gesture to the Augustin Guard to keep the new arrival in check. The latter was so slight that it may have been scarcely noticed by most, especially since the Augustin is now taking his steps off the dias to approach the marble stand from the direction of the crowd. Once there, he dips the feather in ink, placing his signature at the bottom in a place reserved for the family of the groom.

Selene gently rouses the sleeping child in her lap so that she may rise and join the line of those waiting to put their name to the contract. Zea is a bit resistant to the idea and begins a whimper that threatens to turn into a cry. "I will be right back amorita," she coos to the groggy child before placing her down on a chair. With the two Schola behind them, Selene has little concern for her daughter's safety. Once her name has been inked to the new contract she returns and again takes up the sleeping child.

There's a subtle relaxing of Gabriel's wings as Urian signs the document and strides away. Maybe he'd half-expected the man to contest the whole thing, or refuse to sign, or drag his daughter away at the last moment. Thankfully, the Aegian's fears went unfulfilled, and the contract is on its way to becoming binding and legal. He watches Urian depart and exhales a relieved breath, imperceptible to all but Corael. Then, straightening (it's an automatic reflex where Agrippina is concerned, for she epitomizes all formidable old relatives who bark at young children to 'sit up straight,' and it's an instinct ingrained over years), Gabriel tilts his head in a polite nod to the matriarch, implying that, yes, he will make sure the contract is never breached. He'll have to face Agrippina's wrath (and that cane) if it is.

Cepheus passes through the archway from the atrium.

Standing there in the doorway of the Cella like some sandy statue, the Amaris Decemvir watches the proceedings with rapt interest. Or, at least, it -appears- to be rapt interest... it could be that she's already spread her mind out to pillage through the attending thoughts of guests and marriage participants alike. But, uh, Atlanteans don't do that kind of thing, so it's really likely to be honest-to-goodness rapt attention.

It is quite likely that many Empyreans gathered here do not know the statue and position of Aquamia... their current thoughts happily entertaining the notion that they are being seen by their own Emperor and the presence of the Deus Maximus and so many Aegians does a lot to complement their social standing. Only the Schola who are here on duty seem to have no opinion on any matter other than a well placed spear is the only way to deal with anyone who would even remotely pose any danger to the esteemed Empyreans under their protection. From time to time, subdued laughter can be seen from one part of the chamber of another... the guests taking the time to gossip during the signing part of the wedding.

Cersei's copper lashes narrow and shade that igneous green gaze, her entire countenance seeming to consider each of the proclaimed terms. Then, as the bride's father and brother recede from the dias in that troubling way, the iridescent Cersei stands tall, steps elegant and grand taking her to the marble podium. Reserved expression is given to Gabriel in her approach, curiosity and even faint uneasiness hinted there. However, the domina smiles and sweeps down in the light, each angle of her jewels and finery catching in the light. Not ostentatious but surely elegant, Cersei Augustin commits her name to that parchment, attaching herself in ink to this pair for Augustus' sake. She then moves away to the right, standing in strength and iridescent propriety.

Agrippina smiles thinly at Gabriel and Corael. The gray and white mop in her arms leans forward to sniff the happy couple. Apparently, something does not sit right with the dog, for suddenly, the small creature lets loose with a paroxysm of barking. Yipping as if Gabriel was a cat, the dog barks vociferously enough that its begins to foam at the mouth. However, Agrippina only allows the dog to vent its feelings-- and most likely her own-- for a minute, though the hellacious sound seemed to go on for an eternity. "Hush, hush, mommie's precious," she croons. "You can bite Gabriel and his wife later, when they've been bad children." That said, the dog silences and Agrippina walks back to her seat.

Olivia waits her turn, she who is married to the second-most powerful man in the Empyre, she who is charged with carrying the Emperor's voice to the rest of the world, she waits patiently and dutifully until most of the rest has gone. Then she approaches, fingers brushing Gabriel's hand and Corael's arm with a single moment allowed to express her affections, and turns to take up quill. The lady is versed in calligraphy, and her signature is a flowing thing of certainty and style. La.

As Olivia moves from beside him, Octavian takes that chance to adjust the folds of his indigo and gold toga. Sure, they're not House colors, but he knows that the color itself is striking. Of course, something closer to the more imperial purple would suit him better, but he is not Emperor. Ah well. Once his own clothes are taken care of, he then turns to see what everyone else is wearing...or if anyone else looks even half as good as he does.

Well, at least the Atlantean's dressed. And, by dressed, that means that she isn't feigning clothing by wearing see-through this or sheer that and she's actually bothered to dry herself off. Look at that, she's even attempted a vaguely Empyrean hairstyle; it looks utterly ridiculous on the woman. So, as she stands there, quiet and meek and under guard by ears and Schola and Praetorians a-plenty, she puts on a pleasant and almost pretty expression; thankfully serenity of body comes naturally to the water-walkers, else she might not be so nearly 'accepted.'

As far as cats and dogs go, Gabriel is definitely a dog person. That cat of Cersei's that haunts Augustus has learned to its chagrin that the Aegian does not like to find cat-hair on his pillow, and that he'll happily boot the animal out into the cold when its presence grows too irritating. Dogs, though, are another matter. But what the Aegian considers a dog is nothing at all like that ragged, ratty, yelping creature in the Juventas matriarch's arms. He stares at it, aghast, as if he's not quite sure what it is. Once Agrippina has turned and carried the thing away, Gabriel's lips tighten to suppress a smile, and more particularly the chuckle that threatens to emerge. He strives to keep his face composed, and signing the contract is a handy distraction.

Turning, the Augustin Aegian takes up quill-pen and applies his signature to the bottom of the document. His penmanship is not as flawless as some -- his 'l' is a little crooked, and the writing is simple and without ostentation. But it's there. And it's legal. And so he hands the pen to Corael.

Better late then never, a quartet of Empyreans joins the wedding crowd by entering from the atrium beyond the archway. Cepheus holds a hand belonging to one of two young girls on each side, his daughters already looking mystified at the happenings in the room with the curiosity of four year-olds. Ariel and Deukalia appear to be supremely behaved although, the pair remaining close to Cepheus as he guides them to seats at the back of the room. A young Empyrean in her twenties flanks the three, the woman apparently the girl's current "nanny." All of those in Cepheus' group are very well dressed, their white coverings clean and in good order. There are nods given by the Tritonis noble to those who are seated nearby, a particularly large smile given to his eldest daughter Jana.

Bad children? The haughty crone and her dog -- surely some mop someone left festering long enough to gain a personality and no real dog at all, truly -- receive an arched brow and a thinning of Corael's lips as she attempts not to laugh. She turns to accept the quill from Gabriel, pausing to gaze at the contract for a long moment, and the names scribbled beneath, some with excellent penmanship, others with chicken-scratches. Hers falls between, her hand executing a quick flourish that binds her to Gabriel legally, and completes the list of names upon the parchment.

Casting an inquisitive glance on the contract parchment to attest personally that all the required signatures are there, Versus officially proclaims the contract binding by folding it and removing it from the dais. It is handed to Chrysemis, placed on a blue pillow and put into a bronze casket decorated with flute-playing Satyrs and dancing nymphs in a more classical style of older Empyrean art from Civitas Dei. No doubt, the gesture is more ceremonial than necessary, but it seems to suit Versus well, giving a testament to his more flamboyant personality hidden under the stern military exterior of a career soldier.

Once the entire sequence of events is completed, the Augustin resumes his place behind the marble stand and places the elaborate bread basket on its flat, blue-veined surface. With his right hand, he procures the silk ribbon, dressed in the colors of both houses that take union today. "Let it be known", he announces in a melodic Empyrean that holds a strong native accent from the Floating City where he was mostly raised, "That this contract and this marriage ceremony is now official. And as the parchments joins the pair in deed and unites House Augustus and House Demitrios in law, let this ribbon unite your hearts in love." Extending his arm, the Augustin looks directly at Jana to encourage her to step forward, "Oracle, would you do the honors?"

Knowing that she again must act in this ceremony, Jana was rising to her feet just scant seconds before Versus summons her. Broad white wings briefly flare, sending a small gust of breeze whipping around the long, dark skirt of her kaftan. Her head is inclined slightly as she re-ascends the dais, small hands reaching up to take the ribbon from the man. Its long silky lengths are run through her fingers, and consideringly, she turns upon her heel to face the bride and groom. A slight smile curls her lips now, unlike before when she was called upon to deliver her proclamation of the future. "Please, extend your hands?" she murmurs to Gabriel and Corael, in tones that are likely not audible beyond the scope of the wedding party. It is then she glances up, her gaze straying first towards the Atlantean Aquamia and then to her father. The familiarity of the latter's face brightens that small smile by a considerable degree.

Corael senses: Gabriel's brows draw together in the faintest of quirks at Versus' mention of love. He had been going through the ceremony by rote, knowing what would come next, remembering what he should do when, and treating it as he would one of the drills in the Nest he'd undergone years before. But that word, dropped casually, takes him aback. He meets your gaze for a second, and then looks away. For the first time during the ceremony, he seems uneasy.

Olivia, as she returns to her seat, is pensive and distant, fingers absently massaging the gentle rise of belly that her chimere disguises by and large. Her smile to Arius is a fleeting thing, for she is intent on her thoughts and the concluding moments of the ceremony.

Altair looks to Jana as she rises, smiling softly to his cousin as she ascends once more to the dais. He watches as she glances towards the entrance of the Cella, turning himself in that direction a moment. His smile brightens further as he sees Cepheus, both mentor and friend to him. He makes a brief motion for him to come and join him, should seats be available.

Oh good. More babbling in that disgustingly archaic langu-- er, beautiful over-use of the vocal chords. Ah! Aquamia delights in not having the faintest clue what's really being spoken about. Really. It's lots of fun! It's like MST3K but with psychic addendum. Actually, the mood and gesture of those involved in the ceremony is readable enough. Language to an Atlantean is really a superfluous tool. She knows what's goin' on. She's diggin' the scene. She remain right and as she is, still as a statue just off to the right of the threshold. Rapt. Attentive-like. Primarily oblivious to any gossip or ill-wished looks.

For some reason or another, for the first time since the start of this ceremony, Gabriel seems vaguely uneasy. He'd accepted the Oracle's pronouncement of the future with fortitude and determination, yet here he balks, and there's a split-second of hesitation before he lifts his right hand and extends it toward the augur. His eyes are downcast to hide a troubled gaze.

While not directly following Empyrean customs, a number of the participants allow themselves to celebrate the proclamation of the official part of the wedding with an applause. It is short lived and not widespread, but a general good attitude follows the putting away of the contract. That's how marriages are made in the nobility. The number of gryphon noises from the outside - however subdued - seems to raise... a new chariot or two must have been ordered from House Augustus to accommodate all the guests who have arrived today. A young, violet-eyed mongrel woman, bearing the Augustin insignia, enters unobtrusively in the back to rejoin the ceremony and to announce quietly to Dmitri - the master of the House servants - that the banquet is now fully prepared.

While Agrippina is returning to her seat -- the one next to Altair -- she spies Aquamia. A disgusted mutter issues from her lips. "Why has a walking fish invaded us?" With snort that sounds ultimately affronted, she reseats herself, giving the edge of her toga a cracking snap that only emphasizes her irritation.

Arius returns Olivia's smile. He stands to help her retake her seat, a reassuring hand on her arm. Arius straightens, watching with more interest as the oracle steps forward. Idly musing on whether a carefully controlled gust of wind to topple a sculpture onto Jana and Gabriel would be all to obvious.

"Speak more kindly of yourself, Aegian," snickers someone near Agrippina. Probably she same half-drunken lout who made the earlier snipe. Or another; the politician has likely hoards of ... admirers.

There seems to be a hint of unease about Corael as well, an echo of Gabriel's. The Ice Dove's mask has fractured minutely, allowing a seepage of emotions to briefly cross the young woman's face. Her glance at Gabriel is quick, lips moving in a murmur for his ears alone before she lifts her chin a notch and presents her left hand to be bound literally and figuratively to his.

Aquamia is forced to blink suddenly at something not even vaguely defined. Her glassy green eyes peer upward at the ceiling with suspicion. Hrm.

If Jana takes note of Gabriel's hesitance, she has nothing to say in reply. Yet when she turns that beatific smile from her father to the wedded couple, there's a glint of some dark amusement in her eyes. Too late to turn back now. She stretches the ceremonial ribbon tight between her hands, and before either man or woman can turn and dash away from the dais, she begins to tie them together. When she speaks, she does so easily, voice lifting and carrying across the crowd. "Fate has decreed that your destinies be intertwined, and so now do I bind your hands for all to see. From this day forth you are no longer two, but one." Silence falls as she ties off the ribbon with a bow and a modest amount of a flourish. "What Fate has now joined, let no one sunder."

Gabriel senses: Corael whispers softly in your ear in a voice no others can hear. "If not for love, then for friendship." Her voice intones softly, moments before her lifts her hand with determination to complete the binding.

Jana's rise to the dais elicits a tongue being extended by Ariel, the young girl doing so with a smirk on her lips. The action seems to go unnoticed by Cepheus, although not by the young nursemaid that accompanies the family. A gentle prod is given by the young Empyrean woman, causing the retraction of the offending expression. A glare accented by a wrinkled nose is returned by the four year-old, although not even a sound is emitted by the exchange. Cepheus nods at Altair, but moving a family is an undertaking that is apparently not needed at this point. For the moment, the elemental's attention remains fixed on Jana, her future reading bringing some curiosity to the man's pupils.

"Indeed..." Olivia opens her eyes, which had closed as she settled again by Arius, and hers is the first pair of hands that begins to meet in the traditional applause to greet such an ending...and, for Gabriel and Corael, a beginning.

Agrippina's wrinkled skin impervious to snipes and insults. After all, she obviously does not have any shame herself, thus making it easy for her to shame others. Thus, the insult does not draw an insult in return. The old woman merely puts her stick down between her knees and joins in the traditional applause.

Unsuccessfully, the Acesian Dea attempts to wake her child for the final act in the ceremony, but Zea is long lost in dreamland and limp as a rag doll. Selene murmurs something to her daughter, perhaps hoping to rouse her with words and not just a gentle shake, but that does little to help. Rather than force the child awake Selene turns her sapphire gaze to the actions at hand, easily smiling as the length of material is securely tied in place.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, Urian exhales a sigh that can be interpreted as sincere relief, almost a good-riddance. He adds a hearty applause, however, as does Corael's brother, Galen.

Standing there so near the dais, Cersei makes sure to note even the most minute shift of expression or tone. Suspicion is overpowered by decorum, however, allowing her face to hold only a passive expression. A curious but intense glance is ventured to Versus, then to the Atlantean and back again, heightened by the rolling swell of her pristine wings. A restless twitch downplayed.

Whatever Corael said to him eases the troubled frown from his face. Earlier, Gabriel had been the one to offer reassurance in the form of an outstretched palm, and now his wife has done the same, though the words went unheard by any but him. The Aegian tilts his head to give her a sidelong glance and a bemused smile. He twines his fingers through hers as their hands and wrists are bound by silk.

Altair looks back to the ceremony with a smile after he nods to Cepheus, seeming to understand the logistics of moving a family with small children. You don't unless you have to, lest you risk losing one or more of then along the way.

A sketching of a smile is given to Jana, the expression transferred to Gabriel as Corael returns his sidelong glance. Her own fingers twine with his, a shiver moving through her wings, the rustle going unheard through the applause.

Stirring from the silence he had put himself through, Cyrilian lends the event his own applause and smile, although they are neither overwhelmed with joy or with striking bitterness - just some things that have to be done. It's over? Is it over? Are they happy? His thoughts never mattered to anyone and so they shall remain - thoughts. He continues his applause, all ready to bolt as soon as everything ends.

Aquamia goes back to standing quietly and watching, now that the threat of building integrity is put out of mind.

A warm smile enlivens the face of Versus at the final part of the ceremony. It is a special feeling to conduct a pair into a union and give them a future... however symbolically. Even if unmarried himself, he can surely appreciate the significance of this moment in the lives of his cousin and his bride. Patiently, he waits till the applause subsides, clasping his hands behind him in a manner that is perhaps all too military but reassured in its eloquent style of nobility by the relaxed, marble wings that beat gently behind him like two fans made of pure snow. "And so it is complete", his voice carries onto the chamber, "May the Gods witness your union every day, may your offspring bring light into the world, and may the Empyre be built by your passion. Gabriel Hesperos Augustin and Corael Melissande Demitrides Augustin, you are now joined in marriage."

With that, the patrician steps off the dais and waves his head to the decorative aperture at the end of the cella to indicate to the guests that the festive part of the evening will follow outside in the gardens. There, they may speak to the married couple, socialize, indulge in food and drink and remember this day for the rest of their lives, as one more union among the gods has taken place and will carry on its noble lineage.

FIN  

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